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2013-02-03 13:59:23 (UTC)


My dad always sees flaws in people other than himself, or at least only points those things out. He's not one of those people who says really rude stuff about your looks, but sometimes, he only sees what you are NOT capable of.

Like he says I don't clean because on area of the house is messy when I do. I don't care.

Today he said something that should've made me mildly upset, but it didn't.

My father is a good man. A nice, loving father, an awesome husband, and a great professor. I love him very much.

Even if he can be a douche. He wasn't being a douche today, though. I wonder if he's lonely in this house.

Lonely because he alone is happy. My mother, consumed with depression and anger. Me? What am I? Nothing, really. I'm just nothing.

I don't know, it used to never bother me that they fought. A couple years ago, I started to get more annoyed because my mom would always complain to me about what a bad husband my dad is and say if she could, she would leave him.

I didn't believe her.

They're always fighting, nothing really serious like beating each other or anything, just mean words that never stop. I feel like a child with her hands over her ears.

It never bothered me, but it does now, making me endlessly frustrated and sad. That's just how my family works, though. We fight and fight and fight, without resolving it, but end up laughing anyway.

The same problems return, the same fights, the same mean words, and the same reactions all come back.

I love my mother very much, too.

The words used to bubble up in me and explode, but not anymore. I don't have much to say. Just the same words, same reactions, feelings everything.

I write about them over and over which is making me tired and cold.

I should try harder, now. I can't just sit here wishing things were better, wishing one visit to therapy would clear my mind of all this fucking guilt.

I always complained no one helped me. I was only ever half-heartedly commiting myself to healing or whatever, because I wasn't sure if I wanted to. Now, I am just tired of it. It's annoying and stupid and pointless.

I am going to stop thinking about how much I hate life because I might as well try to make it better for myself, right?

This isn't official. I'm not going to suddenly stop cutting and suddenly stop writing about depression.

I always hated cleaning up after myself. It's high time I actually forced myself to do the work. I need to clean up. Inside myself and out.